


Finding the Right Shade

by Crimson_Pharaoh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Artist Sherlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Pharaoh/pseuds/Crimson_Pharaoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is six and a half when finds his love for paint. He funnily enough finds this out when he's kidnapped. Well it is Sherlock. SLASH but it will be awhile. UP FOR ADOPTION.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding the Right Shade

**I don't own Sherlock. If I did Sherlock and John would be together. Please do not flame this is my FIRST fanfiction! REVIEW PLEASE!**

Sherlock was six and a half when he discovered his love of paint. It funnily enough started with a kidnapping. He was sprawled without care on the rug in the sitting room of the house. To which he had been forcibly brought to. Muttering to himself, "Are they really that stupid? I fear for the average human intelligence if my _kidnappers_ are stupid enough to not even attempting to tie me up?

"I could just walk out of here with how careless these idiots are being."

"You should" piped up that voice inside his head.

But Sherlock was curious, so he mentally shoved his barely used survival instinct in the back of his mind room next to the tuned out lectures from disappointed adults, which never seemed to end.

Just as he was observing his surroundings,

_High priced family portrait with decorative antique frame- family home portrait of the family that lived here. Most likely a wealthy family and they knew it. Portrait is about 25 years old give or take. Family is old- can be traced back to the 19th century, old but not nearly as old as the Holmes family which is traced back to 1320's. Man was lean and sinewy callouses on pads of fingertips- job, no not job, he was obviously raised to be the lord of his minor house, not a job. So hobby, hobby included holding an instrument similar in size and diameter of a pencil. So an artist? Yes that is conclusive to the data. Gay- he holds his wife stiffly as if he wants nothing more to away from her. Clothing he wears it comfortably as if he personally picked it out, the tie you can only find in homosexual ran stores. Wife commits adultery- shown by the way her wedding wing is positioned and the indents on her finger. Ring is slightly above where it obviously was before she took it off and hastily put it back on for the family picture. It is even tilted to the side, if she loved her husband or even was faithful that would be one of the first things she checked before having the painting done. Children are boy twins roughly nine. Children are not the husbands; they have his coloring which must come from the real dad, but none of his features. Husband and wife are dead. The state of the…_

The opening of the double oak wood doors started Sherlock out of his trance. The man coming in… He was interesting.

He looked like an older one of the twins. Same unremarkable brown hair, plain brown eyes, lightly tanned skin, the freckles he has mean he has been in the sun often growing up so the house is somewhere reasonable sunny, this considerably lowers the places we can be. He hasn't been living here for at least a year by the state of his tan. The man stood a respectable height of 5'7'' with a semi-muscular build. He must be about 170- 180 pounds. If Sherlock had to fight his only advantages would be his speed, flexibility, and intelligence. Most would think the man would be handsome, but his expression ruined it. He looked like he was swallowing a ripe lemon while in a pig pin. It wasn't handsome.

"Why am I here?" It was stated with so much arrogance and sarcasm that Sherlock could tell the man was trying to hold back from hitting him. Perfect, he works for somebody- if he was the boss he would have hit me. Now time to play. Got to find out who he works for and why, I have an idea but I need proof.

"Shut up boy, you will do as I say!" the man's voice is surprisingly high pitched for his age and appearance. Then the words process, like hell I will.

"Why?" the bored drawl of Sherlock's voice made the man raise his hand before he regained control of himself. Hmm very little patience even less control. Too bad for him it also makes him predictable. I need him to snap.

Saldor, the man's name that he found on the tapestry by the portrait, stalked away from Sherlock who asked, "Were you always your boss's little toy soldier?"

Predictably Saldor snaps "Are you always such a bloody brat? No don't answer that. I am tired it took me 6 hours to find an area I could grab you, and then I have to come back to this hellhole in Southend-On-Sea to hold you here for ransom!" He was clutching the back of the high-backed chair panting trying to regain the breath his rage lost him.

So we're in Essex. I need to leave before he manages to recover from his moment of weakness. Knock him out and leave. Looking around the room Sherlock hefted the first weapon he came upon. 

"So cliché"

Sherlock took the candlestick, adjusted his grip and swung.

THUNK

Saldor fell with a satisfying THUMP, his head rolling around on the carpeted floor. I should probably move him. Ehh I'll leave him an alley, he deserves it. Sherlock looked at Saldor and saw the jewelry. It was custom jewelry, clean cut emeralds and rubies, with 14 karat gold and it was all real.

_He won't mind if I take this._


End file.
